A Sonnet

Alas, the days do slip beyond our view
Where prior reminiscence lingers old
‘Tis on the down-slope we find ourselves, true
And yonder behaviors find themselves bold
While around us these times do wreathe us firm
And memory sweet doth fill the senses grand
The hope is fixed; the fortnight we will learn
Shall hold for us a rarity well-planned
‘Tis beyond the ridge, my friends; ope’ thine eyes
Behold the gate; it swings by breeze above
Time escapes and the garden bids us rise
Retreat, I say, to endless days thereof
The bell now rings, and tells of slumber sweet
Receive the gift; Summer’s swift glance do greet

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